


Concupiscent

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: Unsanctimonious; Victorian AU [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Doctor/Patient, Dubious Consent, Hysteria, Loss of Control, M/M, Medical Kink, Mental Illness, Past Child Abuse, Prostate Massage, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: Lord Armitage Huxley has only grown wearier over the passing weeks; there is a disconnect in his brain and an ache between his thighs that seems insatiable. He should not be giving himself to this illness- hysteria was a thing of disgust, after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Aberration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601775) by [skydork (klismaphilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork). 



> I have no excuse. The readers wanted more? I'm very obliging. ;)

**Concupiscent** **  
** **...**

  
  


Time had been passing too slowly; as if dusk to dawn had not the potential for a period of reprieve, as if each day had begun to slow, the blurred fragments of a fleeting month skipping him by with little chance for redemption. Nay, more so, recollection of his thoughts; the melancholy had settled into his bones, inside of his head, corrupting the organ with wear and refuse.

 

Hux hadn’t the mind for attending to himself as of late, tucked over his parchment late into the night, rewriting scripts of philosophy and history, as though he could somehow mend the past. But he was a man, was he not? A singular organism in a very wide array of worlds, one who was further growing impuissant and unworthy with each day. His hands were no longer steady enough to brace around a pen; his eyes rimmed red and belied with dark splotches that shaded his pallor in an apparition of death.

 

For the past two days, he hadn’t the desire to leave his chambers; his body spoke of something awful, and his head was often swathed by perspiration. The desire for touch, the very thing that had brought him to ruin, was unbearable. He could not focus, each breath he took encompassing the entirety of his capacity for knowledge.

 

As it was, Hux was hardly certain of his hold on consciousness; surely, he had not been cured, and hardly redeemed, though he had asked after a physician time and time again, pleading for something to relieve him of his ailment. The words began to pass on the lips of his servants:  _ Lord Armitage suffers from hysteria.  _

 

Wrong, and he would’ve been correct to smite them for the accusations; for placing yet another disgusting word with his being, something to wave above his head and gloat of.  _ How barbarous, how disgraceful. Treason within my own home, and it festers… even the Captain has been so brazen as to call you unfit, Armitage. _

 

Brendol’s derision, meant to set him straight. It shan’t have mattered in the end; from his birth, he had been a weak, unwanted child, so sickly from whatever had plagued his whore mother. Perhaps she too, had suffered this fate; to be hysterical, and without relief. A terrible grievance, Hux considered. He should have liked to make it to his forties, if nothing else.

 

* * *

 

When the knock resounded inside the walls of his chambers, Armitage startled. His voice was weak, mild-mannered and not of a sound form when he told the servant to open the door. The fair-haired Captain, broad of build and stature, stood there in the doorway, half turned into a bow as she spoke of a visitor: a doctor, she said, a physician claiming to be able to provide him help.

 

And for a passing second, Hux was reminded of a man in a dark room, who had given him a name for his plight in the first;  _ Kylo Ren.  _ That had been his name, had it not? A tall, handsome stranger whose inner eye had seen through Hux’s being, the man who had dared to strip him bare and leave him with yearning, a desire wrought by firm hands and a warm touch, speaking to him of a  _ cure.  _ And yet he had not been cured, though nor had he dared to allow another to slide their fingers inside of him and use him until he was spent.

 

Perhaps it had purged him of his insanity once, but it had yielded nothing of worth.

 

Until Hux managed to sit, adjusting the position of his head as a dark being clad in a black coat approached. Familiar hair, and eyes as well; as though Hux were merely caught in a state of fugue, or lucid reality.

 

“Are you here for me, Doctor?”

 

“Why else would I have come, Armitage?” The man asks, and through that smirk, the belittling mirth, Hux  _ knows.  _ He sees him for what he really is--  _ a gift from Angels. _

 

“I am weary, Doctor… I have spent too long in repose. They have said to suffer is meant for fools and the faint… so why does this monster still inhabit me?”

 

“You are desperate,” Ren murmurs, a hand passing along Hux’s cheekbone, chilled to the touch, frozen as winter’s rain. “You have likely been suffering far longer than the time of your fainting spell. Perhaps since childhood… was your father rough with you?”

 

“My…” Hux shuddered, his hand gripping to Ren’s cloak with uncertainty. “The pain was not unfamiliar; beatings, whippings, as were to be anticipated. A child borne from an unsanctimonious union and forced upon a man with such standing…”

 

“You were bestowed this illness from birth, Hux. It is your cross to bear… but do not fear. You are only human, after all. The same base desires that governed your family will govern you as well; as men we are tied, as a race and a species. But you seem so fragile… so… small,” the Doctor continues, unresponsive to Hux’s shallow hiss, only glancing back upon his ill-favored face. 

 

Hux sobbed, his teeth sinking into the chapped flesh of his lower lip, bitten red and raw from abuse. 

 

“Do not cry, you beautiful creature,” Ren continues, smiling upon his visage. “I will settle this primitive need of yours, this mind that has driven you mad. Lie back and spread your legs, Armitage.”

 

Hux stilled, his fingers sliding from the fabric of Ren’s coverings, ashamed. “Doctor, must I expose myself again? If my servants were to come calling--”

 

“They will not,” Ren answered, with a degree of certainty as he helped maneuver the slim ginger to lie across his mattress in diagonal, lifting his legs to begin undoing his trousers, deftly. In mere seconds they were gone, discarded onto the wood of the floor, Hux’s thighs falling apart as though he’d done it a hundred times before. He hadn’t, of course-- had never wanted this carnal need, the relief of sex. But for Ren, he would allow his pride to slip to the back of his mind; for the sheer possibility of a reprieve from melancholy, he would open himself.

 

Unbidden, Hux’s hand slid between his legs to nudge long phalanges along the heat of his hole. His breath hitched, nervous, before acquiescing to his longing, pulling apart the cheeks and spreading himself, certain it would help ease the impending breach. 

 

“Doctor, that place from before… my prostate… is it still sensitive? Will I be relieved?”

 

“I am sure this will alleviate the pain, Lord Armitage. Have you touched yourself since I last examined you?”

 

“Of course not,” Hux snapped, rather immediately. “I am ill, not vulgar; I do not need to fuck myself on my hand as if I were a bitch in heat.”

 

“It appears rather the opposite,” Ren muses, humming, his fingers slicked with oil much like before as he guides a hand between Hux’s long, shapely limbs. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to acquire a bedmate more avid in coitus.”

 

“I am a soldier, not a strumpet.” Hux reasons. “I have no desire for another…”

 

“Then would you say you are reliant upon me?”

 

The words are so sinister, laced with poison as sweet as liquid honey; Ren’s fingers slide inside, deep and fervent all at once, probing him and tilting back Hux’s chin as the redheaded Lord squirms along sheets made of soft linen. His hips buck, eyes shut in a half-dazed excitement, a soft whimper escaping him when Ren pushes a third in to settle with the rest.

 

“I feel so full.”

 

“As you should,” Ren murmurs. “A hole as sweet as yours deserves more attention. It craves something to plunder it, the greedy thing. You have left yourself wanting, Hux, and it is obvious.” There’s a retraction of the digits before the jab into Hux roughly, prodding at that everlasting heat that once more causes him to cry with disbelief.

 

“Y-you should never spout such vulgarities, Doctor. Man does not lie with man, a-and I am ill. You have told me… my mind is lost!” Hux cries with the accumulating bliss, lashes fluttering, nonetheless attempting to reign himself back to a steady posture. 

 

“And perhaps this is why you respond so eagerly, spreading your legs for even the slightest promise of relief. You are very weak, Hux; you need someone to keep you under control, to keep you from becoming true and well insane. Allow me…” Ren’s other palm descends to the lapels of his coat, undoing button after button as he eyes the rise and fall of the nobleman’s chest, the clenching of his entrance.

 

The Lord’s eyes widen when he watches the Doctor reach for his trousers, trailing along the hem before he began to unfasten them as well, and undo the laces overlying the area above his length. It appears erect beneath the fabric, and so large for Hux to face it so clearly. His moan passes before he can halt himself, his gaze wide and yet sultry with arousal. 

 

“Doctor, would you be able to preserve my sanity?” Hux questions, infinitely ashamed of himself.

 

“It has been said the best cure for a sickness of the mind is to undo the mind twice-over.” Ren is exposed now, his engorged prick a hefty weight along his thighs, weeping under Hux’s sight. Removing his fingers from the cleft of Hux’s bottom, he palms himself; once, twice, the oil spread over his shaft until it seems to be thick and full, promising a sinful expulsion that Hux is most starved for.

 

“Wait--” Hux says, but Ren does not obey, instead coveting the emaciated form below him, in between those creamy, porcelain calves, unblemished thighs. Hux is expressive, more than he had ever been before, and the Doctor wastes not time in lining himself up. His cockhead brushes along the opening still wet and dripping for him, the muscles clutching amorously around nothing as Hux’s throat bobs.

 

And then Kylo is shoving  _ in,  _ spearing him and creating a union of their bodies with a sudden curse of relief, a shout.

 

“We shall make an altruism from your cynicism, Hux,” Ren hisses in his ear at the breach, his arms curled around Hux’s knees as the inexperienced man cries out, an ear-splitting scream at the intrusion-- not even fucked, and yet so beautifully used, inside and out. As despicable as the former Brigadier General was said to be, Kylo could find nothing aside from beauty in the form beneath him. Hux’s suffering was potent, a lustful spell he could drown himself in time and time again.

 

Armitage’s face flushed, his alabaster flesh baring a smatter of red along high cheekbones, blinking back rivulets of agony. “Ren-- you are…” he gasped, disbelieving. “You are  _ inside  _ me.” 

 

This was shame like no other, the most devious act that one could indulge in; to be neglecting his cock, to be disgracing his body by allowing another man to penetrate him, Hux knows he has done the unthinkable. He feels ruin across his face and shame with the point of their joining, his walls tense, gripping the Doctor’s cock and urging him to move deeper even as his mind disconnects.

 

“Yes,” Ren hisses, mouthing at his collarbone for a mere second, drawing a mark over the surface, bright and red. His hips snap backward, before surging forward and angling Hux’s left leg higher in a desire to stimulate that spot he knows the Lord so loves.

 

He knows he’s found it as Hux gasps, nails clawing jagged lines of scarlet into his skin, his spine bent in the arc of a hunter’s bow, sensation running through him and electrifying his heart. The blood pushes a steady staccato through his skull, and Hux feels light-headed once more, prone to losing himself in the suddenness of their coupling. The Doctor’s thrusts pierce him, good and steady, deep in his core, fingers rubbing a circle over his stomach in time.

 

That bundle has become so clear now, so enflamed with use. Hux is threading hands into long, raven ringlets, tugging them as his neck exposes itself, meeting each thrust with a rut onto the organ tearing him in two.

 

_ What would his family think of him now?  _ If they could see him beneath this broad-shouldered beast, whining and offering himself so freely; Armitage thinks himself a whore, half expects Ren to offer him something for this exchange. But this is his treatment, and it should cure him; and indeed, there is a ebb of light in his mind, the unnatural tendrils of some forgotten horror dispelling from where they’d enraptured him. He is free, floating on a sea of bliss toward something beautiful, and then he  _ spills,  _ exhaustion discarded in favor of post-orgasmic high.

 

Ren pushes, twice more, and then he is coming. Hux has the audacity to wonder if Ren would breed him, if he was a woman, and force him to bear; it is the melancholy talking, certainly. Hux knows he would not be so absurd if he were not suffering this sickness.

 

The trails of white leak from his overused rim, onto the bed beneath; Ren is straightening himself, hovering over Hux for a moment before turning to gather his clothes once more. 

 

“You would do well to indulge yourself on occasion, Armitage. It may save you future pain, though you are perhaps too shanty. Nymphomania would be an unfortunate outcome.”

 

The word is slander-- does the Doctor think him a creature eager for sensuality? 

 

“I am not your plaything, Ren,” Hux curses him, dismayed. “You would dismantle me in claims that I will recover from my melancholy, and yet I find myself devolved to a  _ nymphomaniac?” _

 

“I am simply advising you think carefully for future procedure. Paroxysm can be addictive, and your body is so starved for touch that it seems to latch to others easily. Any distress or overstimulation could cause further insanity-- I don’t want that for you, Armitage.” Ren buttons his coat, once more resting his gaze on Hux’s displayed body. “I would advise you trust only the professionals with handling your condition. Physicians--”

 

“And yet I hardly think you a real doctor, Ren,” Hux continues. “I hardly think you more than an occasional distraction. Your presence is no longer needed. Leave,  _ and make it timely. _ ” 

  
Armitage Hux curls onto his side and sobs.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Imprudent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620585) by [skydork (klismaphilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork)




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